Chapter 27

It’s later in the morning when I wake again. The sunlight pours in through the open shutters, and I can hear the sound of seagulls squawking outside. Stretching languorously, I can’t even begin to wipe the smug smile from my face as memories of what I’d spent most of last night and much of this morning doing with Harley play through my mind. We had sex. I, Alice Murphy, slept with Harley Shaw. Not once, but two times. And, if I’m being honest, I could probably do it over and over again. At that thought, I roll over and open my sleepy eyes, but confusion floods through me when I realize I’m all alone in the bed. I reach out and feel the space on the mattress beside me, finding the sheets cool to the touch and, for a moment, I wonder if it had all been a dream.

Sitting upright, my eyes squint involuntarily against the bright light of the sun shining in through the wall of windows as I search the room to find nothing. His overnight bag that was on the footrest by the armchair is gone. His boots that had been kicked off and were sitting haphazardly by the door are gone. His watch and wallet that were on the dresser are gone. In fact, the only memory of him is what’s left of his scent lingering on the pillows, and the unmistakable residual feel of his lips on my skin.

“Where the hell did he go?” I ask the silence surrounding me.

Maybe he just got an early start on packing. Maybe he’s cleaning up downstairs. Maybe he’s cooking breakfast. I try so hard to reason with myself, but it’s pointless because the self-doubt at the back of my mind causes my subconscious to rear her ugly head, and I know straight away he’s gone.

It was all a joke, the mean girl in my mind taunts me. You’re a joke.

Am I just another notch for him to carve into his bedpost? Another name to add to his little black book of bangs? I continue sitting there, looking at the space beside me in bed, the space he’d lain all night holding me in his strong arms, and I release a long sigh of resignation. I thought I’d felt something so real with him last night, but he’s gone and left me here all alone. Harley regrets what we did, and I can’t blame him. I knew he would. Hell, I thought I would regret it, but that’s the problem, I don’t. For some reason what we did means more to me than it should and, at that thought, my heart sinks low into the depths of my belly. If only I could regret last night, at least then maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much.

After a painfully hot shower, I delay going downstairs for as long as I can. I pack and repack my bag a few times, carefully folding each item of clothing as if I work at The Gap. I strip the bed sheets. I even wipe down the bathroom vanity, and clean the mirror. But, I know it’s inevitable and I can’t stay up here forever. I have to face Harley sooner or later; hell, we’re going home today and I’m going to be forced to sit with him in his truck for three hours.